


Here With Me

by irolltwenties (Shenanigans)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Fake Dating, M/M, Pining, Prequel, but not really, people just assume things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 03:50:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19099183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/irolltwenties
Summary: Alex Manes was practical under the eyeliner and septum piercing. He had two very simple rules: 1. get out of Roswell as soon as he graduated and 2. don’t fall for straight boys. The first was going to be fairly simple. He’d saved enough cash to buy a car. He could drive to LA and live on his Mom’s couch out there. He could just crash for a little while; he was sure. All he’d have to do is get there. He could knock on the door and she would have to smile and let him in. She would have to because that’s what Moms did.The second?He watched Isobel Evans’ steal one of Michael Guerin’s fries from where they were sitting shoulder to shoulder on his tailgate. He watched her laugh, wrinkling her nose at him as he held them out of reach and before pressing against him to take another.That was going to be harder.





	Here With Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of ficlets originally posted to 

Alex Manes was practical under the eyeliner and septum piercing. He had two very simple rules: 1. get out of Roswell as soon as he graduated and 2. don’t fall for straight boys. The first was going to be fairly simple. He’d saved enough cash to buy a car. He could drive to LA and live on his Mom’s couch out there. He could just crash for a little while; he was sure. All he’d have to do is get there. He could knock on the door and she would have to smile and let him in. She would have to because that’s what Moms did.

The second? 

He watched Isobel Evans’ steal one of Michael Guerin’s fries from where they were sitting shoulder to shoulder on his tailgate. He watched her laugh, wrinkling her nose at him as he held them out of reach and before pressing against him to take another. 

That was going to be harder.

Michael Guerin had sloppy curls, a perfect jaw, and a six foot tall blonde girlfriend. He also had a way of watching Alex that made his stomach go hot and liquid, confused and needy before looking away. He watched Alex like he was considering something. He watched Alex like he was curious. 

Alex would glare back, wetting his lips and holding the stare as long as he dared. He would narrow his eyes and watch the way Isobel dragged Michael down the hall. He watched the way she would touch the back of his calf when she stood, touch his hair before he could lean away from it, fix the seams of his shirt where they lay crooked on his shoulders. These were small intimacies he couldn’t help but see. He would watch the way the Evans’ twins would flank Michael, hook and fold him into their world. He would smile at Max, skip over the golden gaze Michael would give him, and turn before he could see Isobel smile with genuine dimples. 

They didn’t trouble him, but they didn’t defend him either.

Alex ignored the way Michael would reach over in AP Bio and touch his hand to get his attention. He ignored the way Michael would come up behind him in the hall and start walking in step to their next class. He would try to not think about the way Michael would sip from a straw and hold his gaze across the cafeteria. He wouldn’t think about the way Michael would stretch in his desk seat with a long shake of toned arms and tip his head back to set on Alex’s open book behind him. He wouldn’t think about the way he hummed when he smiled up at him. Michael was always around, always in his orbit and he ignored it until he couldn’t. He ignored it until he was locked safely away in the tool shed, music blaring as he hitched his pants open and fucked into his fist with short sharp strokes, growling and angry at the way he knew- he just knew what Michael’s hip bones looked like. How his mouth looked so soft, plush and warm and inviting when it dropped open at something his girlfriend said.

He ignored it because it wasn’t right to come over his knuckles thinking about a straight boy. It wasn’t right to shake apart when he knew that Michael was shaking under Isobel’s thighs. He was vicious with himself, gasping and choking around the way he wanted to say Michael’s name, how he wanted to picture Michael’s mouth on him. He trained himself to say Guerin.

Michael meant he was breaking his second rule.

Alex would sit in the back booth of the Crash Down, feet in the opposite bench as Rosa talked at him about Frederico. He hated the kid, but Rosa needed something to keep her distracted and that guy was good enough for that. He watched the way Isobel pushed what was left of her burger across the counter to Michael. The way she ordered more food for him to take with him. He’d heard the rumors, seen the way the Blue Chevy showed up in the parking lots around town. He had seen Michael in the mornings at the High School, stripping out of the shirt he’d worn yesterday to change into another, something bland and solid colored so it didn’t feel repetitive. He’d watched long enough to know that when Isobel was having a bad day, she hid out in her boyfriend’s truck, burrowed down in the sleeping bag like a perfectly beautiful blonde burrito of sadness. He’d watched the way the truck bed dipped when Michael hopped in and pulled her close, petting her hair and watching her with soft eyes. 

Alex didn’t want to admit that he was jealous. He wanted to feel Michael’s fingers touch him with that sort of tenderness.

Isobel Evans was sharp and judgmental. She was stubborn and wickedly smart, vicious with her little insights. She walked and the crowds parted. Alex admired that about her, finding his own way to walk angry through the world. He was shoved and he always shoved back. He snarled sarcasm at the taunts that were tossed at him in the halls. He’d stand and stare down Kyle Valenti when he’d smile and slip something insensitive and cruel into conversation. He’d ignore the shoulders that battered against him. He’d bounce off of lockers. He’d stay angry, with a walk that kept his head up and glowered around corners.

He was hit? He hit back harder.

Michael Guerin liked to fuck with him and it fucked with him. He hated that he hoped each day that Michael would be breathlessly late to Bio or that he’d have to lean forward in AP English to read over his shoulder because he didn’t have his book. He ached at the way their shoulders brushed, the way he could almost turn and touch his nose to the soft curls. Alex didn’t want to want him. He had rules, but Michael Guerin pushed and prodded his way into Alex’s thoughts. He ducked a sly smile around a joke that only Alex could hear in Calc. He was just close enough to make Alex prickle, close enough that there was the possibility that Alex was wrong.

And then Isobel would yell Michael’s name on a laugh and Michael would turn, toss Alex a quick smile and jog down the hall to catch up with her. He watched them share space, touch like something special, live in each other’s pockets. They lounged in the sun like cats. They were close and Alex didn’t want to be jealous, but it curled low under his lungs and he shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from touching something- someone- that wasn’t his to touch. 

“He likes music, you know,” Isobel said one day, plopping into the stool next to him while he waited for his milkshake. He glanced over, mouth thinning before he looked away. 

“Everyone likes music.”

“Not the way he does,” she continued.

“Okay? And?”

Isobel stared at him for a long moment and he had a breath where nothing made sense. It seemed stretched like taffy between them and over long. There was a clang of a bell, his order up and he blinked a few times, shaking off the stare. Isobel shrugged. “Never mind.” She gave him another look before shaking her head a little and pushing to her feet. 

Two days later he brought his favorite guitar to school. He left it in the band room. He didn’t know why.

**

“Of course you’re going,” Isobel rolled her eyes, standing next to Michael’s locker and looking down the hall instead of at him.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re doing that thing where you say things that aren’t true.”

Michael blew out a breath and raised his eyebrows at her, anger simmering just a little under the surface of his skin. “How the hell am I going to Prom, Iz?” He cocked a look that was a little suspicious and a little proud. “Am I just going to sneak in? Am I going to rent a tux? Am I going to somehow stumble onto the high school experience and fuck in the back of my tru-”

“Gross. Don’t be gross.” Isobel shoved his shoulder and turned, leaning back as he rummaged around in the mess of textbooks, library books, and clothes he kept in a gym bag at the bottom. He kept deodorant in the top shelf along with some toothpaste and shampoo. She didn’t like that he showered here after gym class, but he wouldn’t tell her where he was staying lately. “You’re coming with me. You’re my date, idiot.”

“I’m not going.”

“You keep saying this, but you and I both know who’s going to win.” Isobel blew out a breath. “Max! Tell him he’s going.”

“You’re going.” Max didn’t even look up from where he was reading on Michael’s left. “Where is he going?”

Isobel looked between them both. “You’re both useless. I have to do everything.”

“Yes, what would we ever do without you, Isobel.” She laughed, shoving at Michael again and then moving to simply drape over his shoulders, chin tucked against his neck. “You can’t leave me with him, he’s just going to moon over Liz.”

“You say this like it’s different from every other day.”

“Hey!” They turned to look at where Max had looked up from his book finally, affronted. “I’m going because you told me I was going.”

Isobel looked between the two of them, going up on tip toes slightly to see Michael’s face in profile as she made a face at Max. “You can both stop acting like I’ve murdered you when we all know that I carry your entire social standing on my very lovely shoulders.”

“I have a reputation,” Michael replied, “Not a social standing.” He paused, eyes locking on something and Isobel didn’t even have to turn to know that Alex Manes had just turned the corner and was walking down the hall. 

“He’s going,” she whispered like she was reminding Max, just against the shell of his ear and didn’t miss the little shiver that ran through him at her words. She smiled, nose wrinkling adorably before leaning back. “I’m wearing coral. Take note.” She kissed his cheek, scratching at the back of his neck as she swung out into the flow of bodies and glanced back over her shoulders. Michael was watching Alex who was glaring his way down the hall, bulky black headphones covering his ears and splitting the mess of his black hair. She watched Rosa Ortecho hop down the hall to slip her arm into his and the way he smiled wide and real for her.

Michael flared a little on the edge of her mind and she touched her tongue to her top lip. 

“You’re going to look amazing in a suit,” she called out to loudly, watching the way Alex couldn’t seem to help the way he looked at where Michael was standing. The way he watched Michael throw a hand up and roll his eyes at her. She blew him a kiss and kicked around to keep walking down the hall.

**

“You like him,” Rosa tilted her head against his shoulder, walking them forward like she hadn’t just said the scariest three words he’d ever heard. Alex sniffed delicately, mouth twisting up as he looks away from where he and Michael had made eye contact. It always felt too short, too hot, too _something_ whenever they met eyes across a room, across the cafeteria, across a desk.

“Shut up.” He says it fondly, dragging his arm out of her grip and tucking his hands under the straps of his backpack. He walks holding on to the weight to keep his fingers from twisting and fidgeting, to keep them from reaching out or brushing against anyone. It’s so important to stay contained.

“Wow, you _like_ him like him.”

“You know repeating a word doesn’t make it more true, right?”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Rosa snorted, turning to skip sideways for a few steps, bouncing up onto tiptoes to look behind them at where Michael was still leaning back against the locker. “He’s still looking at you.”

“He has a girlfriend.”

“You sure about that?”

“I mean,” Alex’s eyebrows twisted up and he frowned bitterly. “They’re always together. Since like sixth grade when she got taller than everyone and he came back to school with us. They’re together. Drop it.”

“Who? Who’s together?” Liz slipped to walk on his other side, glancing between them both with a small confused smile. “What did I miss?”

“Isobel and Michael.”

“They are?” Liz looked impressed for a moment before blinking. “Yeah, okay, that makes sense.”

“See?” Alex gestured at her, shaking his head at Rosa as they turned the corner to head down the west wing to the band room. “Even Liz sees it.”

“Hey!” 

“That’s not proof.”

“They’re going to prom _together._ ”

“You and Maria are going together,” Rosa reminds him. “Are you two fucking?”

Alex blinks for a moment before turning and looking back over his shoulder. Michael isn’t in the hallway behind him and he growls for a moment. “Rosa, stop. Seriously, let it go. I’m graduating and getting the fuck out of here. We made a promise, remember?”

Rosa sighs and frowns at him before nodding and slowing enough to catch her sister by the wrist. “Fine. Be that way. Text me later?” 

“Yeah.” He gave her a small two finger wave as she and Liz started heading for their car. He had practice and the few moments of quiet that afforded him. He stayed busy between band and work. If he never went home then nothing could be his fault- at least an hour at a time. He made it all the way to the guitar racks, mind elsewhere, before he realized his guitar was *gone*.

**

High school was hell and Alex was waiting very patiently for the space where he would ease perfectly into being himself and possibly getting laid: college. He kept his head down, both hands wrapped around the straps on his backpack as he picked his way through the halls, feet quiet on the linoleum that was polished twice a year- once during the summer break and once during the winter holidays. Roswell high was a two story building that kept tight corners with a long entrance that heaved teenagers into the world at the end of the day and devoured them in perfect door sized bites in the godawful light of predawn classes.

Alex Manes was avoiding the ROTC Officer who always managed to look both hopeful and disappointed whenever he saw him in the halls. He’d managed to score a 99 on the ASVAB, something that had managed to please his father and earn him a new shifting bruise on his ribs, just to the left of a kidney and under the edge of the last one that was fading to a slow yellow. Alex made a small face, half smile half avoidance and tried to turn quickly into the Science Wing and slammed directly into Michael Guerin with a clatter of textbooks, pens, and a spiral bound notebook.

“Fuck.” 

“Is that an option?” Michael said it with a smile that seemed slippery around the edges as they both bent, moving to pick up the books that he’d knocked bodily out of his hands, a notebook splattered on the linoleum with the spiral binding picked clean of the torn out pages. They reached for a pen at the same time, fingers sliding against each other. Alex could feel his ears go hot, blush starting at the back of his neck, heating him from the core and he laughed, a nervous chuckle that he immediately regretted. 

“Your girlfriend would be upset.” Alex pulled his hands back, curling them into the straps of his backpack again, watching Michael pluck the mechanical pencil from the floor. He cocked his head, wetting his lips. He flicked his eyebrows up as a thought occurred to him. “And I’m pretty sure she could take me.”

“My who?” Michael asked, voice a melodic tenor. He was so close. Alex could smell his shampoo and the pink hand soap that was in the bathrooms. He was staring. He was staring and he shook his head when Michael tossed him an amused eyebrow when Alex startled and reached down again to help. He handed him the notebook.

“Isobel?”

“You think?” Michael barked a laugh, shaking his head and heaved to his feet. “Nah. It’s not like that.”

Alex was still crouched down, counterbalanced by the weight of his backpack and staring up at where Michael Guerin was smirking. “Wait what?”

“Rumors, Manes. Sometimes they’re true.” Michael was walking backwards, books and notebook tucked against his side. He paused, touching his tongue to the edge of his teeth. “Sometimes, not.”

Alex stared after him when he turned with an easy about face and tilted around the corner and out of sight. He was sure something had just happened, but he was also still crouched on the floor. He was still right where Michael had left him, ears starting to cool as he ducked and blew out a long slow breath before wobbling unsteadily to his feet. “Okay. Right.” He looked around, but the hall was mostly empty, a pair of sophomores making out dramatically near their locker and a few students packing their bags between bells. He was alone in the hall with his flush and the echo of Michael’s words.

“Oh shit.”

**

Alex Manes was looking at him and Michael wanted to stare back, but Isobel was draped against him, chin sharp on his shoulder as she told Max what kind of tux he was going to rent. Alex Manes was staring at him and Michael wet his lips. The cafeteria was full, the volume shading somewhere between overwhelming and mild ruckus. There as a clatter of trays to his right and someone’s screech took a quick turn into a delighted cackle of laughter. Alex Manes was sitting at the back table, leaning against the wall and turned sideways on the seat. Rosa Ortecho and Maria DeLuca were talking around him, smiling and chewing as Liz simply tried to study, hair slipping in a continual and ever present slump over her shoulder that she shoved back absently. Alex Manes was watching him; he was sure of it- had gotten used to the weighted heat of it. He could feel the crooked careless smile that was starting at the corner of his mouth and tipping slow across his face. 

“What are you grinning at? You’re the one who said you hated bow ties.” Isobel turned her head down, biting at his shoulder and he flinched a little, startled out of the sight of the way Alex’s eyes narrowed, angry and flashing at him.

“I could rock a bowtie,” he told her, nodding thoughtfully.

“But I have this boler-”

“Absolutely not, Max.” Isobel pointed at him, sharp. “No boleros. You are not an 80 year old man despite your… odd ideas of what is fun.”

“Dad wears a bolero,” Max muttered, dropping the subject and his head to pick at his limp cafeteria fries.

“Dad is also very popular at nursing homes, bridge club, and the local rotary.” Isobel rolled her eyes and swiveled her chin to nudge her nose against Michael’s jaw. “Tell him.”

“Not my Dad, not my problem,” Michael reminded her, absently leaning a little into the touch before looking back to where Alex had been watching. He was turned back to his group now, laughing bright and alive and Michael had to blow out a breath. “Are we still doing the Goodwill on Pine later?”

He swallowed, glancing over at Isobel where she had propped up on an elbow, dropping her chin into her palm to stare sadly at where Max was pouting. “Yes. Do you want me to pick you up?” She didn’t look away from where she was shaming Max silently. Michael could almost hear the way they were talking to each other without talking.

He scrambled for a moment, catching up to the implication. She’d dropped it so casually and he turned, squinting out the window for a moment. She didn’t need to know he’d been staying in the rest area just outside highway 70. She didn’t need to see the mess of his truck tool box. She didn’t need to know just how often he’d been curled shivering into the sleeping bag she’d bought him. She didn’t need the weight of the pile of nutrigrain bars that were his daily breakfast. She didn’t need to know that half the time he lived for the days they studied at the CrashDown. That he tagged along because he could steal fries, steal some heat, steal something that felt like family when they were all tucked laughing in a booth. Max always just pushed his pickle spear across the plate to Michael and Isobel shoved a nearly untouched plate of burger, fries, and shake at him claiming this or that diet. 

“Nah. I’ll meet you there.” He sniffed, rubbing a finger at his eye and tilting her his easiest smile. It was the soft one that always made her relax just a little and smile back. She was pretty when she wasn’t trying to be tough. She was pretty when she wasn’t trying to be human.

“Okay.” She nodded. “I’m thinking navy. It’ll go perfectly with my dress.”

“And I can wear jeans.”

“You’re not wearing jeans.”

“Aw, c’mon, Iz.”

“No,” she tugged at the shoulder of his shirt, settling it where it had bunched over his shoulder. She was always fixing him in her own way. She scratched at a line of pen he’d absently drawn in Calc across the white cotton and smoothed a palm over it. He flinched back from the look that meant she was going for his hair next. 

“Fine.” He leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead as he pushed up from the table. “You’re the boss.” He grabbed his books and looked back across the cafeteria, catching the dark stare that Alex hid quick with a little shake of his head. “Make me look good.” He swallowed when Alex glanced back, giving him a small little smile before ducking out of the look again. “I want to break hearts.”

“I have so much work to do. Oh my God.”

**

Prom was louder than he’d expected, the bass thrumming through the gym and rattling slightly around the edges of the decorations. It was beautiful though, and he had to give Isobel credit- she’d worked something like magic. There were stars everywhere, hanging from the ceiling rafters and swaying gently in the breeze coming from the open double doors that led out to the parking lot. Everything was blue and purple, soft edged and sparkling from the little lights that were dangling in long looping ropes. There wasn’t a band, too expensive and too cliched she’d told them around a bite of carrot. She’d been eating nothing but salads for what felt like weeks, picking out the cheese and the croutons and the tomatoes and anything that wasn’t green with dainty fingers and settling them on a side plate. Michael ate it all. He wasn’t dieting. 

He was wearing a slightly mismatched set of a suit, black shirt and black slacks with a belt under a slightly shiny navy blue suit coat that he’d had to be convinced fit correctly. It felt too small, stretching a little across his back while being too loose through the sleeves and waist. He’d hooked out of the bowtie as quickly as he could. Isobel had looked so pleased when he’d handed her the corsage box with matching boutonniere. He’d done fourteen oil changes at Sanders Automotive to afford the yellow and coral colored orchid rose bouquet with matching ribbon surrounded by baby’s breath or whatever the florist had decided on. His was a simple rose, matching pale pink and coral. 

“You remembered!”

“It’s important to you,” he muttered, closing one eye and shrugging. She threw her arms around him and he froze for a bare second, feeling the way both of Ann Evans’ eyebrows shot up and Phil Evans simply folded his arms over his broad chest. He paused, caught up in the feel of family and relaxed, hugging her back with a simple devotion. “Okay?”

“I won’t tell anyone you’re a softie, Michael Guerin.” He heard the soft warning in the clearing of Phil Evans’ throat and closed his eyes.

“Reputation.”

“Yeah, that.” She huffed a little laugh, kissing his cheek and taking a step back to fasten the flower to his lapel. “There. You look... “

“Handsome.” Ann Evans filled in, shaking her head and hooking her hands into the crease of Phil’s elbow, tugging herself against his side to set her temple on his shoulder. “You look handsome, Michael dear.” She’d been calling him Michael dear since the seventh grade. He was half convinced she didn’t know his last name. “Don’t they look lovely, Phil?” 

“Let’s get moving,” Phil answered, narrowing his eyes at where Michael had straightened up visibly, tucking his hands into his pockets and nodded, mouth gone carefully vague around round innocent eyes as he followed Isobel and Max out towards the garage. Phil Evans held out the keys to the sleek black cadillac and Isobel squealed happily as Max took them reverently. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” Isobel pecked him on the cheek and Michael had held the door for her, closing it carefully and giving a quick wave. He was driving the truck seperate. He had driven there to meet them and would park and catch up with them just outside the school. He was halfway to the drive when Phil Evans caught him by the elbow and turned him. 

“Take care of her,” he said, gruff and raspy voiced, coughing once. “Please.” There was a pause and Michael watched the way the older man’s blue eyes went concerned and considering, watching Michael where he stood in his 20 dollar suit jacket, borrowed shirt and pants held up with a belt. He knew the shoes were scuffed under the fresh coat of black shoe polish, the leather a little battered near the toe. He swallowed and didn’t let himself wonder about the what-ifs again. Didn’t let himself wonder what his life could have been like if they’d just taken him too. This man, hair going grey at the temples wore horn rimmed glasses and wore battered plaid shirts tucked into easy Levi’s. He was a man’s man, broad shouldered and thick palmed who loved his wife more than he loved his car. He was a good man who was a good father. He’d taught Max how to love and taught Isobel how to argue. He was a good man with a good wife and Michael didn’t torture himself anymore. It hurt more than any cigarette ever could.

“I promise,” he said, solemn and honest, wetting his lips and holding that heavy gaze until it lightened with trust. 

The thank you wasn’t as heavy as the weight of that paternal hand on his shoulder. 

**

Alex was sitting on the bleachers by the football field when Michael Guerin showed up in that battered blue Chevy of his. He watched the other boy park, tucking the wide nose near the back of the parking lot near the closed up concession stand under the darkened lights. There was fifty yards between them, each annotated by a thick white line painted in the grass. Alex wet his lips, and ducked to check his phone again. Rosa was ditching out and Maria was late. He was sitting on the bleachers in his shiny silver tux jacket with black satin lapels, eyeliner, and the twisting anxiety that was trying to keep him out of the gym and alone on the cold metal bleacher seats. He watched Michael hop out, all in black before bending to reach back in and pull out a slightly lighter jacket and twist into it. He watched the way the other boy tucked his shirt in, stretching his torso tall and hands quick. He watched, voyeur to the way he picked absently at his curls in the side view mirror before touching the rose on his lapel with light fingers and smiled quietly. The dark pooled in heavy shadow, pulling at the color of the grass and the sounds of the dance opened in timed yawns of noise. 

It was getting busier and he was sitting in the dark. He was afraid. He was afraid of walking into that dance by himself and afraid of the fact that he’d escape high school without a moment of tense longing. He was afraid that he’d never dance. He was afraid that he’d be alone in the noise and the lights and the teen melodrama. He was afraid that he’d live and die by his two rules. He was afraid that he wanted to break them. Alex Manes was afraid a lot of the time, but he wasn’t a coward. He stood up, dusting off the back of his pants and pulled the shoulders of his jacket tight, tipped his jaw, and smiled.

He walked into the dance like a dare. The gym was transformed, pale glittering lights, white balloons and all the blue. He smiled up at the stars that swayed from the ceiling and then snarled a little as he pushed into the crowd, teeth light on his bottom lip and eyes a lazy insult. He let his head fall back on a smile when Liz screamed happily at the sight of him- holding his hands out from his side before rolling his body to the beat. 

Alex Manes loved to dance.

**

The gym was packed full of bodies, pressing close and tight and then breaking into smaller groups, breaths and beats that lingered around the floor. Michael helped himself to the punch, pressing a shoulder tight to the wall as he poured out a swallow of acetone into the red drink. He was feeling a little disconnected, a little numb and he smiled wide at where Isobel was slinking from side to side to a Panic at the Disco song. Max was leaning against the wall, eyes trained on where the Liz was dancing with Alex Manes under a swirling spotlight. Michael stopped like he’d hit a wall, stuttered breath caught in his chest and smile slid off his face when their glances caught. Alex simply touched his tongue to his top lip, narrowed his eyes, and tipped his chin up. Michael was the one who dared. Michael was the one who pushed too close. He was the one who watched Alex with a confused sort of attention, frowning when Alex didn’t look back and smiling sly when he did.

This was new. This was breaking their unspoken rules. Michael took a breath, visible in the pull of his shoulders and the way the buttons on his shirt strained slightly before sliding through the crowd. He watched. He watched the way Alex’s hips looked slim in the black pants, the pull of them over his thigh when he moved. He liked the way he found the beat, easy as a two step as he and Liz picked out what was probably a dance she’d been doing since birth. Michael had been nearly 8 before he’d spoken a word, let alone danced.

He heard his name, smiling gamely and tossing Isobel some quick finger guns before shuffling in her direction. She snorted loudly and hooked a hand at his neck, shaking her head at him before mouthing the beat in a simple one two tempo. 

“You’re hopeless.”

“You knew this already,” he reminded her. She’d tried to teach him how to dance the summer before 8th grade. She’d wanted someone to take to the Sadie Hawkins, tired of being too tall and too intimidating for the boys she’d grown up with. That was the year she’d taken him to the store to steal hair products. She’d walked in, holding his hand, complaining about the way his palms were sweaty as she dragged him past the rows of bras and lacy underthings to the center of the store where the two escalators met and were surrounded by a sea of glittering cosmetics and a low mist of perfume. She had held it anyway. She’d tried to teach him to dance, but there was a part of him that liked that at this he was a failure. It meant she kept trying. He was worth trying.

He picked her up her favorite lipgloss every month as thank you. He couldn’t afford the fancy mall cosmetics, but he could afford the bus fare. He learned how to slide the alarms off the clothes with his mind. He learned how to slide things into his pocket with a smile and a wink at the girl behind the counter. He learned how to let himself be used by an endless stream of future beauticians at the Roswell School of Aesthetics and Beauty to keep his hair cut and in product. Michael Guerin was good at the work around. He was good at fixing things. Isobel had carried him through the awkward phase in school, carried him into high school with plastic shopping bags of deodorant and toothpaste. She’d shoved hoodies into his hands and taken him to the thrift store to help her find something classic and “vintage” but always leaving with new jeans for him or some shirt that she just refused to let him leave without. She’d populated his life with cologne and care packages.

“I’m actually going to miss you,” he told her, the lights overhead swinging in a lazy lap around the gym floor, spotlight picking up the sparkles on different dresses and the flash of well polished shoes. He smiled at her, tilting his head as he tried to keep shuffling on beat, twirling and laying the back of his hand against her palm to smile back at her before straightening with a little hip wiggle. He was watching his feet so he missed the way she blinked a few times, smile faltering as she looked away and then back before patting at his shoulder. The music changed and he sighed loudly in thanks, hooking an arm around her waist to pull her close. Swaying was something he could definitely do. He groaned when the familiar and overplayed chords of the Plain White T’s ‘Hey there Delilah’ flowed out of the speakers despite the happy yells of his classmates.

“No you’re not,” she muttered finally, smiling quick and tight, eyes crinkling slightly as she led. He was always being led by her, following her around the town, the school, the dance floor. They swayed in a slow shuffle of steps, his palm spread wide on the small of her back. She was taller than him in heels and he didn’t care. He’d never cared and had tossed the flats she’d initially picked back into the box at the shoe store and told the clerk to bring the heels she’d been staring at longingly. Now, as they moved through one circle of light to another, the mirrored balls sending starlight across the floor and over her hair, he didn’t regret it.

Isobel Evans was someone to look up to.

**

Alex manes had a beautiful singing voice and Liz was lucky enough to have heard it more than once. Liz was lucky enough to have him dancing her lightly around the gym floor, mouth at her ear and voice low and smooth as he sang along. “You hate this song,” she laughed, head tipped back and tucked close so she didn’t miss a moment.

“Yeah, but _you_ love it,” he said simply in the space between lyrics. He twirled her out, letting her keep the long elegant line of her arm before the light tug to the beat that reeled her back in, caught close and tight against his chest. He smelled spicy and clean, the fabric of his jacket slippery as she tucked a hand over his lapel and tilted him an endlessly fond smile. “Hey there, Delilah. You be good, and don't you miss me.” He paused, taking a quick full breath and wet his lips, closing his eyes and ducking his head to touch his smile to the curve of her ear. “Two more years and you'll be done with school. And I'll be makin' history like I do.”

“You know it's all because of you,” she hummed in response, letting herself follow the way he seemed to know exactly where he was going, leg tucked between hers and carrying her a little on a spin. She laughed and didn’t notice the way he glanced to the side, eyes intense as he picked up the next line, voice rich.

“We can do whatever we want to-”

“Ow, fuck!” Liz startled at the sharp pained note and glanced over at where Michael Guerin was apologizing profusely to Isobel Evans, hands light on her hips and face red. 

“Shit, Iz.” He seemed to be fumbling and she batted at him, sighing before giving him a shove. 

“Save it, Michael.” Liz found herself unable to look away from where Isobel Evans simply stood in the middle of the dance floor, blue lights lovely on her pale hair and dress clinging to her curves. “Go outside. Take Max with you. He hasn’t moved from that spot in four songs.” She wiped at her eyes with quick little touches of her fingers that no one would notice if they weren’t watching before shaking her head, lifting her chin, and walking towards the bathroom. Michael looked around, lost for a moment before he backed up two steps, glanced her way and turned. He grabbed Max by a reluctant wrist, tugging him along before he pushed out the door and into the night air.

Liz leaned back, shaking her head and grinned up at Alex. “Awkward.”

He blinked, tearing his gaze from where it was trained across the gym and smiled back at her, quick and perfunctory. “Yeah. Totally.”

**

“Jet propulsion?” Max felt the words in his mouth, knew that they belonged together and couldn’t help the swell of pride that burst in his chest as Michael closed one eye- oddly bashful about his own accomplishments. “Dude, that’s amazing!” He tucked his bottom lip against his teeth, smile crooked and small. “You could work for like NASA or something.”

“SETI satellites.” Michael lifted a shoulder and fiddled with the black satin edging on the suit jacket. Max clapped him on the arm, lifting his drink to take a sip. He caught the way Michael glanced up at the sky before rolling his gaze questioningly to where Max was standing. “Listen to the stars. See if we’re really alone, you know?”

“Damn.” Max nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek before his thoughts were interrupted, the door to the gym slamming open with a roar of bass beat, voices, and angry startled shouts. He settled back on his heels, watching Alex Manes shove out of the dance, strides long and angry, chased. Max watched as he made it to the decorative white arch, the christmas lights twinkling innocently when the door slammed open again, Kyle Valenti hot on his heels with a trailing defensive line following just behind.

“Where the hell you going, Manes? Huh?” Alex kept moving, quick and undeterred until Kyle tossed out a casual. “What’re you so afraid of?” Kyle stumbled a little at how quickly Alex turned, pushing back into the space between them. 

There was a fight in the air and Max felt the way Michael prickled into wary readiness, like he always did whenever someone started yelling or a bus tub startled the entire cafe when it hit the ground in the CrashDown. Michael was on high alert and it tickled at the edge of Max’s skin, digging in and holding their attention in tandem. 

“Say it again.” Alex was swaying a little from side to side, hands gone nervous and loose as he looked at anything but Kyle’s face.

“Oh, I don’t see what the big deal is,” Kyle was humming the words, insulting and easy. It was a simple thing, this knife twist. “Alex.” Kyle was baiting him and Max couldn’t look away. “We just have different tastes. I like tacos and well you like...” Kyle paused, tilting his head and wetting his lips a little before narrowing his eyes at the punch line. “Hot dogs.”

The air goes electric and Max has to take a sip of his drink at the way his mouth went dry, the way Michael went hot and angry. “That’s not what you said.”

“What’d I say?” and Kyle’s words were blurring together, beat going fast and Max saw Michael shift his weight, felt the way he was already moving forward before he’d even taken a step.

“Kyle!” And Liz was there and Max exhaled like a gut punch, watching the way her eyes went confused, then hurt, then pleading. He was only vaguely aware of the way Kyle turned, swayed away and towards her. He understood the pull she had, the red dress stunning in the faint christmas lights but the turmoil that Michael was splashing at him pulled his focus back when Kyle turned back to lock eyes with Alex. Max watched him try to slip out of the situation he’d created, watched him slip back into the kind boyfriend that Liz seemed to see. 

“I think you’re just blowing this whole thing out of proportion, Manes,” it was falsely conciliatory and Max glanced to Liz, hoping for once she would see him for who he was. Hoping for once she would see past the bravado and the smiles to the guy who shoved people into lockers with a bright laugh, who used slurs like taunts, who made everyone feel so small so he could feel tall.

“What, you don’t want Liz to hear what you called me?” Max blinked when Alex didn’t back down. They’d been so used to just turning and walking the other way when Kyle showed up. They were so used to rolling their eyes and sliding around him, away from him, avoidance was survival in High School. “You’re going to be one guy with your friends? And another with her?” Alex wet his lips and snarled into a step forward, tipping his eyes up and letting the years of anger simmer in his stance, square his shoulders as he spit the closest thing Max had ever heard to truth. “You are a coward. Always have been.” There was a little shove and the night exploded.

Max heard the slam of fist, heard Liz shout Kyle’s name in shock, but mostly he saw Michael in motion before Alex had even hit back, the way everyone seemed to draw tight and close around the two boys intent on hitting each other. He hadn’t even thought to move, hadn’t thought to get between them. It wasn’t his fight.

But apparently it was Michael’s because his brother was dragging Alex away, putting himself between Alex and Kyle and shoving the other boy back. He was being a hero and Max was still rooted to the spot, wondering and held captive by his indecision and the shock of watching Michael.

All that existed in that moment was their breath. All that anyone could hear was the way it pushed in and out of their lungs. Deep breaths, soft in the stillness between the fight, the anger flared hot and scorching white now simmering in the way Alex turned, growling into the way Michael was holding him. Max was sure Michael was going to get hit, but Michael just stood there, open and sure in a way Max wasn’t used to seeing him. Michael wasn’t this person outside of their tent, outside of the nights they stayed up talking at the ceiling in Max’s room, outside of the back of his truck- tailgate down as the three of them stared at the stars.

“You okay?” They stared at each other, the fight and the heat and the rage, the little moments of anger that had built to spill suddenly caught between soft palms as Michael held Alex’s eyes. The music kicked back in or Max could hear again over the way the world had narrowed for a moment. He blinked, suddenly realizing that this was _Michael_. This was Michael looking at Alex Manes like he was the only thing he ever wanted to see. This was Michael waiting for Alex to look back. Max knew what that felt like, had been living with it just under his skin since that day on the playground. He knew what it felt like to feel half alive until he was seen and the way a smile could put color in the world. 

But this was Michael and this was new. Max blinked and watched the way it all made sense somehow, all of it made sense in the way Michael just let Alex push close, hopeful ache welling and then gone as Alex pushed close and pushed past him, touch lingering for a moment.

Max looked at Liz. He couldn’t help it. He always looked to her, a habit, an automatic function of his body like breathing. He looked at Liz in her red dress and her rage and he understood. 

“They skipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.” Max wet his lips. “This Side of Paradise,” he mumbled, watching Michael start down the light covered path and looked around before following.

**

There’s fourteen yards spaced neatly between where Michael is standing and where Alex is pacing back and forth. He’d found himself following, waiting half hopeful as Liz talked to him, as Liz cupped his face and stared at him with dark warm eyes. He waited as Alex wrapped easy hands around her wrists and told her he was fine.

Michael knew a lie when he saw one. It was an easy one to tell when you were used to it. Hell, he knew the taste of it in his own mouth. 

He watched, careful and small for a moment against the back of his truck, arms draped over the edge of the truck bed as Liz Ortecho pushed up onto tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He watched because he couldn’t look away, not when Alex’s eyes closed, almost startled at the soft touch, before he gave her one of those wobbling smiles. Those were Michael’s favorites.

He had favorites because he’d been watching for almost three years, unfettered and unflinching. He knew the smug little twist of mouth that went in tick tock rhythm to the arched eyebrows. He knew the startled loud laugh that came with a clap of hands and Alex’s head tipped back, like the sheer force of it rocked him back in his seat. He knew the bright obedient one he plastered on for teachers. He knew the one he tucked against Rosa’s hair when they were playing guitar in the CrashDown.

But his favorite was the one that Alex didn’t know was coming; the one he couldn’t prepare for. It started at the corner of his mouth and spread, shifting to his eyes to crinkle them up at the corners before there was a little hesitant flash of teeth against his bottom lip. That one Michael would push and prod for, reaching across the desk to touch the back of his knuckles. It was the one he watched for- the one that had him hurrying in the hall to walk shoulder to shoulder, questions about trig secondary to the way Alex kept his head down with his fingers tucked into the straps of his backpack. He’d catch it tossed at the floor, tossed at the shared page of a lit book in english class. He’d catch it in the cafeteria and it felt like it might just be something that wasn’t a hand me down. It felt like something new. Something he’d gotten himself.

He waited until Liz left and Alex was just staring up at the night sky on the 12 yard line, hometeam advantage. The night was an easy cool with a light breeze that ruffled his hair. It kept it’s crisp edges, letting the sound of the Prom behind them echo between the building, under the bleachers, and across the pavement. It was distorted like they were underwater and Michael gave a quick little whistle to catch Alex’s attention. He smiled, half amused and easy open, tilting his head at the other boy in his silver tux jacket and angry eyes. “You’re gonna need to put something on that.”

“What do you care, Guerin?”

Michael lifted a shoulder, shrugging loosely before patting his palms against the metal truck bed. “I just don’t like that guy.” He sniffed, narrowing his eyes back across the parking lot before scrunching his face up and turning back to Alex. He wet his lips, pausing with his tongue tucked between his lips before blowing out a breath and pushing back from the truck. “He’s a dick.”

Alex Manes turned and looked at him, blinking in the dark, the parking lot lights pooling in orange circles to either side of the entrance to the football field. He stood in that silver jacket in the moonlight and all Michael could do was wish he hadn’t let go of the truck. He didn’t trust his hands just then. “Why are you being nice to me?” It was a wary question, but Alex’s voice carried easily across the pavement.

“Do I need a reason?”

“I guess not.” Alex looked away before grabbing his left elbow with his right hand and taking a half step out of the dark and onto the cement. He cocked his head and watched Michael with dark eyes. It was quiet in the parking lot and Michael had to force himself to breathe, had to force the air into his lungs. He wanted to reach out and touch the back of Alex’ hand, touch his wrist, the heat of the bruise blooming on his jaw. He ducked out of the eye contact, flush creeping up the back of his neck before he steeled himself and looked up again, unashamed.

Alex was moving, walking in that slow measured step and Michael’s knuckles went white on the metal truck bed. He watched Alex stop across from him, black wet bird spikes of his hair going soft in the breeze, fluttering and mussed. He could feel the way the other boy just looked at him, measuring, eyes flickering over his face, touching his mouth before casting around the truck bed, counting the sleeping bag, the blanket, the cooler tucked just under the toolbox. There was a burst of laughter and Michael didn’t look over. He knew what Prom looked like from a distance. He knew that the christmas lights were wrapped around each tree that led up the walk to the doors. He knew they arched in a tunnel that people were pausing to take pictures and take slow savored kisses. He felt his stomach go hot, heartbeat kicking up as he and Alex locked eyes again. 

“You can stay in the shed. I wasn’t joking.”

“I know.” Michael looked down at the mess of his bed, sucking his teeth for a moment before sighing and thumbing the button on his dress shirt open. It was too tight. He felt trapped in these clothes and he cleared his throat at the stark hunger that Alex hid between one moment and the next, his mouth dropped open just enough that if Michael reached he would feel teeth.

He made a decision. He smiled, chucking his chin at the cab of the truck and closing one eye. “Wanna go for a ri-”

“Guerin! There you are.” He startled, watching the way Alex took two quick steps back and tucked one hand deep in a pocket, the other covering the back of his neck when Cyd Gough bound over to them, round, redheaded, and out of breath. She smiled, waving a little at Alex before looking at Michael. “Have you seen Isobel? She has the envelope.”

“What?” Michael shook his head, confused.

“The envelope?” Cyd looked between them again before sighing. “With the winners? The announcement is coming up and she’s got the envelopes. We just figured you guys were together so they sent me to find you.”

“Right, I should... I should go.” Alex took another step back, pointing at them with that fake smile. The one Michael hated the most.

“She was inside.”

“Oh, no, we looked everywhere. We were a little...” she pinked visibly, pale skin going blotchy as she made a vague hand gesture at him. “I got voted to find you.” She waved at Alex who turned on a quick heel to walk back towards the bleachers. “She’s really not with you? Oh man. Now I’m worried.”

“God damnit,” Michael sighed, watching Alex kick at a bit of gravel before slipping into shadow. He looked at the little red head, sweet and scared. “Okay, let me go look.”

“Thank you.” Michael nodded at her and hauled around to the driver’s side door. Twenty seven minutes later he’d searched through the mess of bodies on the dance floor, the hallway behind the bathrooms, the patio outside the doors, behind the dumpsters, in the darkened previously locked hallways of the school, the empty football field, and the entire school grounds. She wasn’t anywhere. He glanced at the bleachers hopefully, wondering if Alex was home. Wondering for a brief moment if Alex would know if he was in the tool shed. 

He piled into his truck. Later. Right now, he had to find Max.


End file.
